The Broken Mate Bond: His Fatal Choice

Three hours after the enforcers left me to bleed out on the thin mattress, the metal door to my room slammed open. The force was so violent the handle punched a deep dent into the drywall, sending white dust drifting to the floor.

He didn't offer a word. He marched straight to the side of my bed, grabbed the clear plastic tubing taped to my inner elbow, and yanked.

The steel needle ripped out of my vein. Dark red drops splattered across the white sheets and dotted the toe of his polished dress shoe.

"Adrian, what are you doing?" I grabbed my bleeding arm, pressing my thumb hard over the torn skin.

He threw a stack of photographs at my face. The corner of a picture sliced a thin line across my cheekbone before the stack scattered over my lap and onto the floor.

"You couldn't just let her live," he snarled. His voice vibrated with a lethal rumble, shaking the empty glass vials on the nearby counter. "The transfusion worked. She was stabilizing. And you simply couldn't stand it."

I picked up the top photograph from my lap. My fingers trembled, smearing a drop of my own fresh blood across the glossy paper.

The image was a grainy security feed. It showed the dimly lit hallway outside the intensive care unit. A woman stood near the glass partition of Celeste's room, wearing my beige cashmere trench coat. The timestamp in the corner marked the footage at just ten minutes ago.

"Her organs are failing," Adrian stepped closer, his shoulders blocking out the harsh fluorescent light above. "The venom in her system spiked again. Someone slipped past the guard rotation, entered her room, and injected a second dose of Silver Thorn into her IV line."

"And you think this person is me." I held up the photo, my voice rough from disuse.

"I don't think. I know." He pointed a rigid finger at the picture. "That is your coat. You were seen in the corridor by the night staff."

"Look at the picture, Adrian." I tapped the center of the image, holding it higher. "Really look at it."

"The woman is wearing my coat, yes," I continued, keeping my tone dead flat to mask the rising panic. "But look at her shoulders. Look at the height of the hem. This person is at least three inches taller than me. Her frame is different. The sleeves barely reach her wrists. This is a clumsy frame-up."

"Stop lying!" He struck the metal IV pole beside my bed. It crashed to the linoleum floor with a deafening clang, rolling into the wall.

"I am bleeding from a threatened miscarriage," I fired back, pointing to the dark, dried stain crusted on the examination paper beneath my legs. "I haven't had the strength to stand up for three hours. The room was locked from the outside. How could I possibly walk down the hall, bypass your elite guards, and poison her again?"

"You are the Luna of this pack." His amber eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "The guards are trained to look the other way when you issue a command. You used your authority to clear the hall and finish the job."

"Why would I do that?" I demanded. "Why would I risk my life and my child's life to hurt a woman I barely know? I have nothing to gain from her death."

"You have everything to gain." He leaned over the bed, planting both hands on the mattress and trapping me in his shadow. "You saw me sitting with her. You realized your position was threatened. You decided to eliminate my savior before she could wake up and expose whatever twisted plot you started at the banquet."

"The only setup here is the one you orchestrated." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You planned the timing perfectly. You wanted the entire pack to see her fall, to cement your dominance. But she survived the first dose, so you went back to ensure she didn't survive the night."

"Your savior," I repeated the words, testing how hollow they felt on my tongue. "Is that what she is to you?"

"She sacrificed everything for this pack," he shot back, his face inches from mine. "She took a lethal blow meant for me years ago. She finally comes home, and you give her a death sentence."

"You are cruel," he whispered, his grip tightening until my teeth ground together. "You are so terrified of losing your status that you would murder a defenseless woman in her hospital bed. You have no conscience."

The burning pain in my lower abdomen flared again, a reminder of the child he was actively ignoring. I ignored the cramp. A strange, freezing calm washed over my chest, extinguishing the last pathetic spark of hope I held for this marriage.

"If you are so certain I am the murderer," I said, my voice steady and devoid of warmth, "then arrest me."

He straightened up, his brow furrowing deep into his forehead. "What did you say?"

"You heard me." I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, planting my bare feet on the freezing floor tiles. I stood up. The room spun for a second, but I locked my knees to keep from collapsing. I faced him squarely. "Stop playing the enraged judge in a private hospital room. Call your enforcers back in. Strip me of my title. Throw me in the pack dungeon."

"Do not test me."

"I am not testing you. I am telling you to end this hypocritical trial." I met his furious gaze without blinking, refusing to back down an inch. "If I am the villain you want me to be, treat me like one. Lock me in a cell. Put me in silver chains. But stop standing here pretending you care about justice when all you want is an excuse to punish me for not being her."

"You think I won't lock you away?" he asked, his voice lowered.

"I think you are a coward," I replied. "You need me to be the villain so you don't have to face the guilt of what you're doing to your own pregnant wife. If you lock me in the dungeon, the council will demand a formal investigation. They will review the footage. They will see the height difference. You don't want an investigation, Adrian. You just want a punching bag."

Adrian took a step forward, raising his hand.

Before he could touch me, the frantic squeak of rubber soles echoed in the corridor. The sound grew louder, tearing through the tense silence of the hallway.

A young nurse skidded into the open doorway. Her blue scrubs were disheveled, and her face was drained of all color, leaving her skin a sickly gray. She gripped the metal doorframe with both hands to stop her momentum, breathing hard.

"Alpha!" she screamed, her voice cracking in absolute panic.

Adrian spun around, his murderous focus transferring from me to the terrified woman. "What is it?"

"It's Celeste," the nurse gasped, pointing a trembling finger down the hall toward the intensive care unit. "She's coding. Her heart just stopped."